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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299333">Double, Double, Toil and Trouble</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mymorningteacup/pseuds/Mymorningteacup'>Mymorningteacup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:08:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mymorningteacup/pseuds/Mymorningteacup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After his career as an Auror is over John is offered a new job as an Obilivator. Observe muggles getting too close to the magical world, obilivate, and redirect them. Seems simple enough. His first case is a curious detective that is more than what he seems and pulls John on more adventures than what he bargained for. (Eventual Johnlock in later stories).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Study of a Pink Lady part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am planning on writing this as a series. As such each new story with the series will be tied into the Sherlock show until it starts branching out into more. So for the my first story it will focus on season 1 episodes, if that makes sense. But I hope you all enjoy and Merry Christmas from your dearly demented author.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Study of a Pink Lady pt 1</p><p>"So Mr. Watson, tell me about him," The elderly gray haired witch set down a cup of tea in front of him. "Or as I hear it is Dr. Watson now I presume."</p><p>Her emerald robes flowed behind her as she rounded her desk to take a seat. It had been nearly 20 years since she had laid eyes on her former student. Though now recently he had made quite a name for himself by chronicling the life of his companion and the shroud of mystery that seemed to follow him wherever he went.</p><p>"It is and he is…well he's extraordinary, bloody mad sometimes, but extraordinary. I'm always on my toes and we get all sorts to the flat. He only takes cases that defy all logic." He half chuckled to himself. His life over the past five years had changed so much he barely recognized it.</p><p>"So it would seem. Were you ever concerned that he would figure out that you were…well.." She gestured a hand to him.</p><p>"Figure out I was a wizard and not a solider or a doctor for that matter? For a while. Took him about two years. He still wonders how the tea makes itself every morning." He scoffed.</p><p>"Gracious. And here I thought you wanted a quiet life after your time in the Auror's."</p><p>"Me too." John picked up cup of tea and took a drink. "But I wouldn't trade one moment. There have been times where it has been raving bonkers but I think that's what has made our time together special."</p><p>Professor McGonagall couldn't help but smile.</p><p>"You know I always enjoyed a good story. Especially full of mystery. Tell me of all your adventures."</p><p> </p><p>5 years ago.</p><p>John sat outside the Auror Office with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His gaze was far off as he held his cane beside him. The past few months had taken a toll on him and his latest mission had come with a price. He had been on the field on an international excursion, stricken by a curse that all but ruined his health. Returning to London he currently faced the decision of his future and what it meant to his career.</p><p>His cane that was now a contents reminder of why he couldn't return to the field. What was an Auror in hot pursuit of a dark witch or wizard if they were gimping along with a cane?</p><p>He sighed rubbing a hand over his face. Deep down he knew he was finished.</p><p>"John?" a voice called his name.</p><p>John looked up into the eyes of his employer that was hidden behind large circular glasses.</p><p>"Sorry Harry. Didn't hear you come out." He stood with the help of his cane and limped into the office of Harry Potter and took a seat. Harry came around and sat at his desk shuffling through his paper work. John wasn't sure if he was looking for something in particular or if he was just biding his time and beating around the bush so he wouldn't have to tell him he was no longer needed. He could read it in his face with the anticipation and the nervousness.</p><p>"So John, how have you been?"</p><p>Treading on small talk and easy questions. God how he hated it. It was all he heard since he got out of St. Mungo's.</p><p>"Considering the fact I haven't been able to sleep in three months its been great." His tone had a tinge of sarcasm along with it.</p><p>"I know it was hard for you John. I know that here lately you haven't been yourself. Perhaps you just some time off, relax, go on holiday.." Harry suggested.</p><p>"Is this your subtle way of telling me I'm out of a job? Don't get me wrong desk work is still as important but its…its just not the same. I need to do something. Even if it means quitting altogether and maybe going to 's as a healer. I doubt my leg will ever get better or ever have a decent night's sleep again, but I can't be confined to a desk. It will drive me mad."</p><p>Harry sighed adjusting his glasses, running a hand through his dark hair. He did not want to loose a valuable employee. John had an extensive decorated career as an Auror and had traveled not just around England but international missions to the far east as well. However, he knew John had his own personal demons just like he had his.</p><p>"Come along John. I think there is something you can do. If you are interested that is. It's social work, but it shouldn't be too difficult. All you have to do is observe and report to us." Harry explained as he arose from his desk and made way for the door, expecting John to follow.</p><p>With slight difficulty John got up and followed Harry, his cane clicking all the way down the hall of the Ministry of Magic, both catching a ride on the elevator to the lower level.</p><p>"I appreciate the help. I really do, but social work? Not exactly my office is it?" John asked.</p><p>"I know John, but just give this a try. Its the Obiliviator's Headquarters. They investigate muggles who may or may not be getting to close to the magical world when they shouldn't be there. Some field agents can spend years in one area. Observing, reporting, all the while correcting the error the Ministry sees as a potential breach. Obliviate and move on to the next case."</p><p>John nodded. Nightmares of years past had been haunting him of late. Anything from his time as a school boy to recent events had increasing been plaguing his mind. Perhaps it was time for a change of scenery. He knew his time as an Auror was over. His last case had been a terrible one and he had gotten injured in the field. They had got their person, but it came at his sacrifice.</p><p>The elevator came to a clang and the doors retracted apart. Stepping off into a overcrowded basement of people, desks, chairs, papers flying from one to another it looked to be a complete mad house. John's eyebrows rose at the onslaught of noise of catastrophe. Harry looked to him apologetically.</p><p>"I may have forgotten to mention that it's a bit of…"Harry's voice trailed off.</p><p>"Chaos?"John answered.</p><p>"Yea."</p><p>Slinking through the hoard, John and Harry went through the maze till they got back to the back of the room. There sat behind a desk an older gentleman with dark robes and a lopsided pointed hat with bits of copper and white hair peeping out underneath.</p><p>"Mr. Weasley?" Harry put on a smile.</p><p>"Oh Harry! What are you doing in my neck of the woods?" Arthur's face brightened up on seeing his son-in-law.</p><p>"I have John Watson here. He is taking a break from the Auror's for awhile. Needs a change."</p><p>Mr. Weasley looked to John somewhat confused, scratching his head till it donned on him.</p><p>"Wait…are you the chap that…oh you are!" he arose from his chair and took John's hand and shook it vigorously, "Bless you Mr. Watson! That was a horrible…I mean to say is you did the Ministry a great service! Bless you!"</p><p>John's smile was forced.</p><p>"It's quite alright. Just doing my job."</p><p>"And a fine job you have done." He clapped John on the shoulder. He grunted in pain at the older man's gesture but shrugged it off.</p><p>"I'll leave you two to it, if you don't mind me going back upstairs." Harry looked to the two of them.</p><p>"Not at all Harry. And swing by the Burrow tonight. Perhaps we can all have a family dinner…Ginny will be there." He added in with slight hopefulness.</p><p>"Sounds brilliant." Harry nodded and excused himself, once again fighting the crowd of people back to the elevator.</p><p>"Just you and me now Mr. Watson. Come along and I'll show you down to the artifact room and we will get you geared up. I've been doing all kinds of odds an ends jobs since they have practically made me director over this whole floor. My job is to look after muggle affairs." Mr. Weasley</p><p>John's brows furrowed again. Surely this department didn't need special equipment just to do simple social work and watch muggles. John had come from a muggle family himself and it was to his parents shock, and John's, that he had received a letter from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardy when he was a child. But, nevertheless, his parents were proud and supported him going to an unconventional school to learn about this new identity of his life and every summer and winter he would come home to tell them all that he had learned. Until the last year of school. Shaking his head of the morbid thoughts he focused back at the task on hand.</p><p>"So which case will I start with first?"</p><p>"Straight to the point, my kind of man. You'll fit just fine here. The muggle I have in mind for you is a new one that has just been reported by a wizard who works in a hospital in London. He said there is a muggle who does detective work and has asked him if he could use the laboratory for his research and experiments. At first he thought nothing of it. Just thought he was working for the Scotland Yard. That is until he learned what this muggle really can do…and what he was investigating."</p><p>"Which was?"</p><p>"Oh you'll have to experience it for yourself. Something quite extraordinary." Mr. Weasley said in excitement.</p><p>"And this detective's investigation?" John questioned.</p><p>"Let's just say that the Ministry of Magic and the detective were investigating the same case simultaneously and neither of them knew it. Thing is, is that he solved the case in less than a day. We've been trying to solve it for years. He just…knows things."</p><p>Now John was really confused and curious as well.</p><p>"Wait, then how did he do it? How did he solve a case of ours in less than a day? Without any help? Let alone any help from us?"</p><p>Mr. Weasley and John stopped in their walk and Mr. Weasley turned to him.</p><p>"They say he did it with "deductions"."</p><p>At that he opened a door and both entered a room cluttered with different assortments of muggle items and gadgetry from top to bottom. There was hardly any room to step or form a clear a path. Some gadgets were from older decades like a record player or even a pinball machine and some more modern like an iPhone.</p><p>"We have some new modified muggle things that we have been testing out on the field and so far they have proved to be quite a success. Ah here." He picked up a laptop computer and showed it, with careful handling as though it was made of glass, to John.</p><p>"They call this a laptop. Not sure why because it doesn't necessarily have to be in your lap to work. You press the button here and….," The laptop brightened to life and dinged "It comes on. They say muggles use these all the time for work or school. You can do just about any type of job on here from…calculating sums to making a letter, there are games you can play or even get on the "web". We're still not completely sure if the "web" is a real world or not.</p><p>Muggles apparently learn everything from the "web" as it tends to house most of their news source. It still needs more research into it. But you will be using this. We have a laptop set up here where we can see any documentation you type out though try to be discreet. They say muggles can hack into these things. So you may want to pretend you are writing a book or something of the sort." He handed the device over to him.</p><p>John shook his head and he tried to hide the smile that was wanting to grace his face due to Mr. Weasley's explanation. It would not be the first time a wizard was totally fascinated by modern technology. When he was in school he often saw the pure and half blood wizards stare at him in amazement at the wonders of his pens. Something so simple.</p><p>"Next," Mr. Weasley spun around and searched through a box that was sitting on a desk "I have a mobile phone. These things are all the rage in the muggle world! You can talk to people from far away, or anymore, they are just like the laptop where you can access the web. Fascinating things!" he turned back to John to show him.</p><p>"Now with this we will also have you contact us the moment you find out anything that is critical. These mobile phones are much faster than owls. This one just so happens to be Harry's old phone from Ginny when he did some minor field work for us a couple months back. Few scratches here and there, but still in very good condition. These will mainly be your working tools. Both of these have a little lock on the side where we have modified them to be muggle proof."</p><p>John nodded.</p><p>"So where will I be going and where do I report to?"</p><p>"Ah, well you won't be going far. The muggle has been doing most of his work here in London. Mike Stamford, the wizard who reported it, will be meeting you at the park near St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Also we will need a new identity for you and I have just the thing. As for reporting to, you can call either myself or Harry." Mr. Weasley handed John a manila file folder and John flipped it open, glancing at the papers.</p><p>"A…a doctor? I'm going to play the part of doctor?" he asked skeptically.</p><p>"I know you done some healing training at St. Mungo's and got your Master Healer's License in Magical Medicine. You practically are a doctor in their world."</p><p>"And an ex-soldier?" he raised an eye brow up to him.</p><p>Mr. Weasley's voice dropped lower and more solemn."It's best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Your time in the Auror's will not go unnoticed. Like I said you have done us a great service."</p><p>John stared back at the papers. The more he stared at them the more he wasn't sure what he should do. Perhaps Mr. Weasley was right. It's just a cover story, but it was also the truth. He had felt like a soldier in the Auror's and he had enjoyed…no craved every bit of work available. The action and getting right into the mess of things, he wanted it. However, it looked like a faraway dream. He felt like since he had been injured on the field he was somewhat scared to return yet it kept calling his name like some long lost lover. All he wanted was some peace to calm his nerves. Maybe this change would help.</p><p>"Why don't you sleep on it. There's a flat set up a couple blocks away from the hospital. One you can stay at. Why don't you take this with you and call on me tomorrow or some time this week."</p><p>John looked up at him and nodded his head.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"I know what your feeling John. I know it is nowhere near to what you experienced, but I was once attacked and left for dead by Voldemort's minions as well. It is an uneasy feeling. An uncertain feeling. Like the evening has fallen and you are not sure if the sun will ever rise again. But it does John, it does."</p><p>With that Mr. Weasley left and John noticed how he too had a limp. Perhaps Mr. Weasley was right. Perhaps it was possible to be normal again.</p><p>—</p><p>John sat on the bed in the tiny, bare, plain walled flat. The more he looked at the walls the more it seemed like a padded prison. Even the noise on the street was beginning to bite at his nerves to the point he couldn't tolerate it. It was too much. Was this what his life came boiling down to? Shaking his head trying to rid himself of depressing thoughts, he flipped open the file folder again that Arthur had given him.</p><p>"A bloody army doctor. Well, I can't blame them. Sticking to the truth as much as possible is smart in case of kidnapping or death. Hopefully I don't need a full back story."</p><p>Flipping more pages he came to the picture of a young man, seemingly late 20's maybe early 30's, with a mop of dark curly hair and a long coat on, walking down a street.</p><p>"Ah, this must be him. Sher...lock? Who names their kid Sherlock? Not much information on him either. I'm going to have to start from scratch. His only violation has been since he's moved to London about 6 months ago with that one case Mr. Weasley mentioned earlier. Only now they want an investigation." He scoffed to himself and plopped the folder onto the nightstand. He laid back in bed and with a simple wave of his hand the lamp on the nightstand turned itself out. He still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to do this job. It was muggle watching after all. How exciting could you get? Then again it wouldn't be a hard job. He still thought about ditching it the more he thought about it and going to work as a healer, but there was something….still something that kept nagging, no itching at the back of his mind.</p><p>"Lumos." The lamp turned back on and John suddenly sat back up, flipping open the folder again to the young detective's page. "What exactly was you poking around in? How did you even find our case?" He skimmed his finger down through the page as it rested on his destination.</p><p>"No… you have got to be shitting me." He breathed to himself.</p><p>The case in said violation; a kelpie had started attacking a village drainage pipe into a lake. There were reports from muggles that there was supposedly a "monster" in the lake, as they heard groans and roars from within and a glowing "dragon" and fish at night. The glowing was only a recent occurrence in the past couple of years. Naturally the detective was hired and he took the case, not because he was interested in said monster, he was more interested in the drainage pipe. In the end he found that a power plant run by terrorist cell was illegally draining nuclear waste into the lake and the plot was shut down immediately. Now the kelpie was being relocated, the lake cleaned, and minds Obliviated of any "monster". Ultimately solving the Ministry's mystery of what was going on with the lake, the kelpie and the breach. So didn't he actually…help?</p><p>"A terrorist cell of all things. No wonder the Ministry didn't know. They barely correlate with Muggle politics they wouldn't know. They haven't been on good terms for years. And he solved it in a day. And what are "deductions"?" His mind reeled.</p><p>John picked up the mobile phone given to him and he scrolled through the contact list and pressed a number, waiting as it rang on the other end.</p><p>The line audibly clicked and was met with a brief silence.</p><p>"…HELLO!" Came Mr. Weasley's voice as he shouted into the line as John jerked the phone back from his face.</p><p>"Um yea, Mr. Weasley I can hear you just fine. You don't have to shout." John rubbed his ear.</p><p>"Oh, John! I'm so sorry! Still trying to get use to these things.… I'M NOT SHOUTING AT ANYONE MOLLY! OF COURSE I KNOW THERE IS NO ONE OUT HERE! IT'S…IT'S oh bloody hell I'M JUST DOING…SOMETHING I'LL BE IN, IN A MINUTE! I'm sorry John." John held the phone away again till it was safe to put back to his ear.</p><p>"Quite alright."</p><p>"Now what can I do for you?"</p><p>"I'll try the job Mr. Weasley. Just this one case with the detective and I'll see how it goes."</p><p>"I was waiting for this call. Ha! He said this call would come! I'll let Mike know and we can start you out first thing in the morning." His voice almost sounded giddy.</p><p>"Sounds good. Where shall I meet him?"</p><p>"There is a park near the hospital. Why don't you guys meet there. Say twelve?"</p><p>"Fine with me."</p><p>"Good. Get some rest now. You have a big day ahead of you"</p><p>—</p><p>"Muggle watching. Who would have thought I would be muggle watching."</p><p>A quick smile appeared and disappeared as fast as it came on John's face as his cane clinked down the pavement. He shook his head at the thoughts he had, had over the past couple of hours. He barely glanced at the people passing by as he blended in so easily to them. For all his time at school and his time as an Auror he always had to hide from the world like he was some sort of strange creature being a muggle. John was always caught up in either side, the magical world or the other. Sometimes it was hard trying to keep up the appearance of a full blooded or even half-blooded wizard when he wasn't one. Though that was how he survived in school. He knew if he didn't want to get bullied or teased he would have to pretend to be one of them and they never really knew his true identity save one. This was one of the main reasons The Muggle Relations Office preferred employees who were muggle born in their line of work. They didn't have to force their character, they could think like them unlike those who weren't, they could just be them. John could be himself. For once he could just walk through life as though he was a muggle.</p><p>"Hopefully this will be easy. Just watch, Obliviate, and redirect him. Simple enough. At least I hope."</p><p>"John? John Watson?"</p><p>The call of his name made him look around until he saw a burly fellow in a brown suit and tie, newspaper in hand trying to catch up to him. Though not quite the athletic jock of a Quidditch player like John remembered him, he knew the voice of his old friend Mike. Oddly enough still donned his old house colors on his tie of red and yellow.</p><p>"Mike. Mike Stamford. We were at Mungo's together." He gestured to himself.</p><p>"Yes. Oh yes, Mike, sorry, hello." John shook his hand.</p><p>"I know I got fat." The man teased.</p><p>"No, no." John tried to defend.</p><p>"Come on I got you some coffee. You have a big day ahead of you."</p><p>"I've had that feeling all day."</p><p>"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. At least that's what The Daily Prophet said, what happened?"</p><p>Seemed like word traveled fast, however it always did in the Daily Prophet. No doubt half of England had heard of his unfortunate latest excursion.</p><p>"I got shot."</p><p>The man's rounded face nodded in recognition, but was unsure whether to press on with his questions any further. He didn't want upset or bring back bad memories to the Auror. He waved him to a nearby bench and handed John a hot cup of coffee.</p><p>"Are you at Bart's, then?" John changed the subject hoping to shoo away the elephant in the room and get back on a more neutral topic.<br/>
"Gave up Mungo's for this. Easier on the muggle folk on my wife's side. Teaching now. Bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" Mike admitted.</p><p>They both laughed.</p><p>"What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?"</p><p>"No," John answered. "I switch departments for a change. I'm with the Obiliviator Headquarters just temporarily, giving it a try. I'm being assigned to watch someone. Some bloke using a laboratory at hospital. They think he's up to trouble." John stopped, taking a sip of his coffee. Mike awkwardly looked away and drank his coffee.</p><p>Then it came on again. The sudden little shake of tremor that John had tried to keep concealed under his mask. It always started to rear its' ugly head when he became stressed or nervous. He switched his cup from his left to his right hand, hoping Mike didn't notice.</p><p>"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked.</p><p>"He did. And this was for the best." John defended once more.</p><p>"Well don't worry about finding accommodations here for your work. You are in luck."</p><p>"How so?"</p><p>"Well the only way you are going to survive in London is to get a flatmate."</p><p>"Come on – who'd want me for a flatmate?"</p><p>Mike chuckled softly to himself as though he knew the answer to a secret only he knew.</p><p>"What?" John asked confused.</p><p>"Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."</p><p>"Who was the first?"</p><p>Mike just grinned.</p><p>"The man you are going to meet."</p><p>—-</p><p>"Come on Mike. Tell me about him?" John asked as he followed Mike down to the hallway of the hospital.</p><p>"Oh no! That's not fair. Everyone who meets him needs to be initiated. It truly is a gift. For a muggle." Mike fawned over the subject in question.</p><p>"So he's done it to you then? This "deduction" thing? What is it?" John was beginning to get leery abut how this muggle had such an effect on people.</p><p>"All I have to say John is you will just have to see for yourself." He stopped at a door labeled 'LABORATORY'. "Just act casual. Your an old friend of mine visiting me. I'm just showing you around the hospital."</p><p>"But I am an old friend of yours that you are showing around the hospital." John quipped in.</p><p>Mike gave him a look and motioned his head towards the door, then it dawned on him. It was their cover story. Small and basic. John nodded and Mike knocked and opened the door. There in the back of the lab was a tall man in a dark suit, pipping a petri dish only giving the briefest of glances to the intruding visitors.</p><p>"Well, bit different from our day." John looked around the laboratory room in interest, his cane clicked loudly with each step.</p><p>"You've no idea!" Mike chuckled at their own inside joke.</p><p>The tall man took a seat at the table and then decided to make his presence known.</p><p>"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." His deep voice jutted in.</p><p>"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked.</p><p>"I prefer to text."</p><p>Mike patted himself down but turned up empty handed "Sorry. It's in my coat."</p><p>At this moment John fished out his phone that was given him by Arthur. He was going to conduct an experiment just to see how good this detective truly was. Could it be possible for him to crack a magically modified phone or would he be stumped? He wanted to know exactly what he was dealing with and plan accordingly. With a touch of a button he switched on the muggle safety and handed his phone to him with baited breath.</p><p>" Er, here. Use mine."</p><p>"Oh." the man said in surprise as he quickly glanced at Mike. "Thank you."</p><p>He stood and in a brief stride took the phone from John, flipping out the keyboard , typing away.</p><p>"He's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike found this opportunity to introduce John and in return John caught Mike's glare at him. He could tell that Mike thought he was out of his mind for letting a muggle use a magical modified device, let alone a detective that was under suspicion of near breaking their secret. Though he couldn't help it. He liked to live a little dangerously.</p><p>"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Was man's first question, making John frown as he noticed Mike's mouth turn up in a smirk</p><p>"Oh this must be it. My initiation has started." He thought to himself, now that Mike's smile was ever apparent, probably laughing at his own joke only he seemed to know. Now John really was curious of what made this man so…different.<br/>
"Sorry?"</p><p>"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man repeated, still typing away. The man briefly raised his eyes to John's. His cold blue eyes meeting his for that split second before flitting back to the phone made him feel like he got struck by lightening and it rather shocked him before he realized the detective's question.</p><p>"Wait. How does he know I was in the middle east?" John hesitated, looking across to Mike confused, but his rounded friend could only smile smugly.<br/>
"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?"</p><p>The man ignored John's question and looked up as a young dark haired woman wearing a lab coat came into the room with the aroma of coffee coming from the mug in her hands. For a moment it seemed the spell was oddly broken.</p><p>"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you."</p><p>The man shut down John's phone and handed it back while Molly brought the mug over to him. Taking the hot beverage he couldn't help but do a double take at the awkward woman now standing there. This would be John's first time observing this strange man. What was it that this man saw that no one else did?</p><p>"What happened to the lipstick?" His dark brows furrowed in confusion as he waited on her explanation. Even John glanced at her, noticing a small smudge of leftover pink lipstick on the corner of her mouth. Must've went unnoticed by her, perhaps in a hurry to get the coffee to impress him.</p><p>"Ah, impressing him, she must like him. And he is a tall dark haired striking fellow. What lady wouldn't like that? And he was obviously happy that he got the coffee and even noticed the small detail about her lipstick. So he must be interested as well." John concluded his answer to himself. However, her hesitating voice spoke volumes more. In the other direction.</p><p>"It wasn't working for me."</p><p>"Really?" His voice came out surprised "I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too.. small now."</p><p>"And there went any chance of a date you ass." John watched him as he didn't even so much as look at the poor soul's defeated face as he went back to his station to the other side of the lab.</p><p>"... Okay." Molly said meekly and turned and went out the door.</p><p>The man didn't miss a beat as he went on to his next question for John.</p><p>"How do you feel about the violin?"</p><p>He didn't realize that the man was referring to him once more, actually he still couldn't believe the audacity of his behavior towards the poor girl that this man was capable of making a decent conversation.</p><p>"I'm sorry, what?"</p><p>"I play the violin when I'm thinking." He announced as he typed on the keyboard of his laptop, "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He stopped suddenly as though a thought struck him. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."</p><p>He put on a smile that John couldn't exactly tell was the true smile of this man or one of a fiendish devil. It wasn't till again John realized what the detective had said that made him see the inner question of what he was asking.</p><p>"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" He asked Mike.</p><p>"Not a word."</p><p>Confused, John looked back towards the man who now appeared to be wrapping things up with his laptop and closing it down.</p><p>"Then who said anything about flatmates?"</p><p>The man picked up his dark blue greatcoat swiftly putting it on in one swing around him.</p><p>"I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." He explained as though all of it was common knowledge.</p><p>"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked even though he had only just gotten back from there not three months ago. It irked him that he knew. So far he hadn't seen any evidence that this man was a threat to the magical world. Other than maybe he was a little bit of a prick. The man once again ignored his question and wrapped his scarf around his neck, picking up his mobile and checking it.</p><p>"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He carried on as he made his way towards John and to the door.<br/>
"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."</p><p>"Is that it?" John interjected, not satisfied with his answer. He wasn't going to let him just hop out the door and not answer how he thought John was just going to be his flatmate and move in and for God's sake how in the hell did he know about the middle east?!</p><p>John's question made the man turn back around, closing the door strolling over to him as if he was suddenly challenged.</p><p>"Is that what?" His voice somehow came out deeper.</p><p>"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" John asked skeptically.</p><p>"Problem?"</p><p>John smiled in disbelief that this guy obviously didn't see what the problem was. John looked at Mike for some sort of clue or hint to how to deal with him, but once again all he could do was grin.</p><p>"We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." He started again, trying to spell it out for him to make him see.</p><p>All the man could do was look closely at him, scrutinizing, almost as if he was reading him for a moment before he began his speech.</p><p>"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."</p><p>John's eyes flitted down at his leg and cane for a second and shuffled his feet awkwardly at the blunt comments.</p><p>"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He replied smugly, returning to the door opening it, but leaning back to give him one last look.<br/>
"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." With a click of his cheek and wink of his eye, he turned to Mike. </p><p>"Afternoon."</p><p>Mike raised a hand in farewell as Sherlock disappeared out the door leaving a stunned John in his wake. All John could do was turn to Mike in disbelief.</p><p>"Yeah. He's always like that. And congratulations on not beating the blazes out of him."</p><p>John closed his mouth that he didn't realize was agape and could feel the heat in his cheeks. He certainly underestimated what they meant when the Ministry said he just "knew things". Like a window blown open in a storm now he saw why he was a threat and needed dealt with immediately. It was as if he had read his whole life story from one glance.<br/>
—</p><p>Returning to his flat John sat down on his bed. He couldn't get the man…Sherlock, off his mind. How did he come to all those conclusions about him, especially his undercover identity, with so much as a mere glance? He was a muggle right? He couldn't read minds? Surely not. He didn't sense any magical force on him. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone and inspected it.</p><p>"Wasn't able to crack it." He noted as the muggle lock was still on. He flipped to the messages section just to see who he messaged and what he had wrote.</p><p>If brother has green ladder<br/>
arrest brother.<br/>
SH</p><p>Puzzled, John stared at the message for a long moment, then looked across to the table where his laptop is laying. He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the table, opening the laptop and pulling up the internet.</p><p>'"Let's see if we can find out exactly who you are." he said to himself eager this time to play the role of the detective.<br/>
John was surprised to find a blog, oddly enough on the said "deductions". Clicking on it, it brought up Sherlock's inner most writings, scribbles and thoughts in the most dry manner one could imagine. Based on the count meter, very, very few people had read his blog. Or they had read it and quickly clicked away from the utter nonsense.</p><p>"This is absolutely ridiculous. Either he is mad and needs to go to the funny farm or its actually true. Jesus really? 240 types of tobacco ash? Did…did he smoke them all or what? Identifying markers on certain people and careers…London mud…my God this is crazy."</p><p>Though however crazy it was John wanted to know. How did he get his knowledge of his time in the middle east, his fake story of an army doctor, he didn't even have a brother so who was he thinking was his brother or even his therapist? Just how? He wanted answers!</p><p>Reaching for his phone again he called up Arthur.</p><p>"Hello?" Came the older man's voice on the line.</p><p>"Hey Arthur I'm going to take this case. I really am. Something, I don't know, something is just not right about this guy. He's not normal. But I've gotten offer to move in with him as a flatmate and I'm going to take it. To keep a closer eye on him."</p><p>"You sure about that? Not sure what the Ministry will think of that situation."</p><p>"I can always Obliviate him and move on right?</p><p>"Suppose so. Just be careful into what you are getting into."</p><p>"I'll keep it mind. I am meeting him at 7pm tomorrow at 221B Baker St. I'll fill you in more from there."</p><p>"Good luck John. Make sure to always stay by him. I'm sure you won't regret it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Study of a Pink Lady part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Study of Pink part 2</p>
<p>The following day came much sooner than John had anticipated. Or it could've been the fact it was another sleepless night for the wizard. Images of a ruined besieged castle and fallen classmates had plagued his dreams. Reliving nightmares that he would rather not think about, even better if he could forget.</p>
<p>He decided to unwind his nerves by walking to the address the detective had given him yesterday instead of Apparating there. No need to be waiting around on edge for this little interview with him, personally, this time. Who knows, perhaps it wouldn't take long. Once he figured out how this uncouth man possessed his unnatural ability to read people's life story like a book he could be Obiliviated. Simple as that.</p>
<p>John's walk ended at a black door with golden letters of 221B gleaming overhead and a large door knocker. The unknown waiting behind its void color. With simple twist of his wrist he popped off the top of his cane, double checking the compartment in which held his wand in secrecy. Satisfied that everything was in place he quickly popped the top back on and knocked the door as a cab pulled up to the curb. John watched as the man he had met just yesterday paid the driver and now faced him with now a cooler demeanor. The detective smiled at him, this time John thought it was actually a true smile and not the fiendish grin from the lab.</p>
<p><em>"Seems like his moods are interchangeable."</em> John thought cautiously.</p>
<p>"Hello."</p>
<p>"Ah, Mr. Holmes." John reached out and shook his hand.</p>
<p>"Sherlock, please." He insisted.</p>
<p>John made a once over at the prospective flat that they were going to see. It was a tall three story building with a convenient café shop on the street level. He did have to admit it wasn't a bad place and it seemed to be in a respectable neighborhood.</p>
<p>"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." John remarked.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."</p>
<p>The detective's statement made John's thoughts come to a screeching halt.</p>
<p>"Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?" John asked.Surely he wasn't that good to get someone off on a murder charge?</p>
<p>"Oh no," He smiled "I ensured it."</p>
<p>John's eyes widened at his words.</p>
<p>
  <em> "Never mind. He is a silver tongued devil who ensures the execution."</em>
</p>
<p>The door to 221B opened and the two men were greeted by an older lady clad in a dark purple dress with a bubbly smile on her face. Her arms outstretched and hugged the detective briefly.</p>
<p>"Sherlock, hello."</p>
<p>Sherlock returned her greeting and stepped aside to present the shorter stout man beside him.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson."</p>
<p>John and Mrs. Hudson exchanged their hellos and she gestured for the two men to come inside. Sherlock easily trotted up the stairs to the second floor leaving John to hobble up after him. John noted that Sherlock had the speed and dexterity that he once used to have, a good qualification for the detective. He reached the second landing to find Sherlock waiting at the top of yet another flight of stairs. At least he was civil enough to wait. Once at the top Sherlock opened the door to the flat.</p>
<p>The sitting room was the main area. Set up with a large desk by the window, book shelves, and chairs around. He could see why he would choose this flat. It was a prime area to work, have clients, and to live. A quick glance into the kitchen was enough to see various beakers and chemistry equipment to make a miniature lab. John figured he must be a chemist of sorts. This would be work from home, where he could easily make his own hours and he didn't have to punch a time card. Given the disarray of things and boxes cluttering the area John guessed he had already decided he was moving in, flat mate or no.</p>
<p>"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."</p>
<p>"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," the man admired the flat as he looked around "So I went straight ahead and moved in."</p>
<p>"Soon as all this rubbish gets cleaned out ... Oh." John's words had train wrecked against Sherlock's until he realized what he was saying. "So this is all ..."His words trailed off, hoping he hadn't offended him.</p>
<p>"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." The younger man instantly started to try and tidy up.</p>
<p>
  <em> "Good job Watson. You really know how to put your foot in your mouth don't you."</em>
</p>
<p>He watched as Sherlock picked up some envelopes, and with a force, stabbed them with a knife to the mantle piece above the fireplace. His eyes drifted over to the skull that adorned the corner hoping it was only some Halloween decoration he liked to keep around as a prank.</p>
<p>"That's a skull." He pointed with his cane.</p>
<p>"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..." Sherlock slid off his coat and scarf and put them on a nearby chair letting his words fall on empty meanings. John was starting to get a second impression of the muggle at hand, almost a different nature. No longer was he the arrogant prat he had met yesterday, but rather boyish and awkward, fumbling in his conversation. Almost as if he really didn't know how to talk to people or perhaps his only friend was the quiet skull on the mantle piece. He looked too innocent.</p>
<p>The landlady made her presence known, almost in a mother hen type way as she picked up varies items around the room, her herself trying to clean as well.</p>
<p>"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be<em> needing</em> two bedrooms."</p>
<p>"Of <em>course</em> we'll be needing two." He persisted.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here.," then her voice dropped down to a hushed whisper "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."</p>
<p>John's eyes widened again a second time. This time about the insinuation the older woman was implying and his eyes flicked over to Sherlock who seemingly said nothing to her comment.</p>
<p><em> "Oh. Oh God she thinks….she thinks we are together?! Because we are looking at a flat?"</em> John was rather shocked. It had been a long time since he had been assumed as gay, even though it had been since his school years since his last male relationship.</p>
<p>"Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." The land lady fretted over to the kitchen now busying herself in the makeshift lab Sherlock had put together.</p>
<p>John was grateful she didn't delve any more on the topic and decided to have a seat in ruby armchair, plumping the pillow that nestled in its wake. He had hoped to have a moment alone with the strange muggle. Ever since the night before he had met him he had an itching desire to figure out how exactly this man had solved the Auror's case. Even if it was breaching the secrecy of their world. But what really made him curious of him was how he broke down his "cover", one that was made up no less, and come to the conclusions he had. Either way he had to get to the bottom of it and he wanted to do it fast before he had a chance to set up a permanent residence at the detective's flat. No need of staying any longer than necessary.</p>
<p>"I looked you up on the internet last night." John confessed.</p>
<p>The man turned to him. His face blank of all emotion or even a surprised thought that a stranger had seemingly stalked him.</p>
<p>"Anything interesting?"</p>
<p>"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."</p>
<p>A proud smile lit up Sherlock's face like a Christmas tree. No doubt he probably felt very accomplished by the pile of pure bullshittery John had ever read.</p>
<p>"What did you think?" Sherlock's question nearly burst with anticipation.</p>
<p>John's face must've said it all as he threw him a look and the man's face instantly fell into confusion.</p>
<p>"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." His voice hinted in skepticism.</p>
<p>"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." He defended.</p>
<p>Once again he had struck a nerve to the ex-Auror. He ran his tongue along the back of his teeth in frustration. He had a hunch that this detective was going to be a tough nut to crack. He tried to loosen his stiff posture as he asked how, but once more he received no reply from the smirking man as he turned away from him and peered out the window. He was like a common street magician who refused to give up the secrets to his tricks.</p>
<p>"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?," Mrs. Hudson's voice broke the tension in the room as she brought in a newspaper. "I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."</p>
<p>"Four." Sherlock's face reflected the red and blue glow of lights coming from outside. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."</p>
<p>"A fourth?" She piped up confused.</p>
<p>The sound of hurried footsteps made their way up the stairs and the trio turned to see their new visitor. Judging by the flashing red and blue lights from the window and the middle aged gentleman before them, John came to the subtle conclusion that he must've been from the Yard. Though what did the Yard want with a private detective? Usually the police had their own investigators.</p>
<p>"Where?" Sherlock didn't miss a beat with the Inspector, his demeanor changed again to how he was before in the lab, wiping all emotions aside and focusing on the work at hand.</p>
<p>"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The gruff voice of the Inspector answered.</p>
<p>"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."</p>
<p>"You know how they never leave notes?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"This one did. Will you come?" Sherlock hesitated for a split second before asking about who was on duty for forensics.</p>
<p>"It's Anderson." The Inspector seemed to regret his answer as Sherlock gave him a grimacing look.</p>
<p>"Anderson won't work with me."</p>
<p>"Well, he won't be your assistant." The Inspector pressed, clearly wanting to win Sherlock over.</p>
<p>"I <em>need</em> an assistant."</p>
<p>"Will you come?"</p>
<p>"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."</p>
<p>"Thank you." The Inspector breathed out, relieved.</p>
<p>No sooner than the Inspector had arrived he was off in a dash, hurrying back down the stairs. John had watched the interaction in a new light. From the new information he had just shared to the detective and asking for help it seemed that the Inspector was heavily relying on his input if he wanted him to come so desperately. So what kind of detective was he? Private eye? Or was he just some new recruit that had just started on the force? He seemed rather young though. No way the police were relying on some kid fresh cut out of university.</p>
<p>And right now it seemed that way. As soon as the Inspector left Sherlock bounced in the air like a happy child gifted a new present, twirling around to gather up his coat and scarf.</p>
<p>"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas! Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."</p>
<p>"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." She all but tutted at him.</p>
<p>"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock dashed about grabbing a small pouch from the kitchen table and before they knew it disappeared down the stairs.</p>
<p>Looking on, John was just the same not three months prior. Anytime the Auror office had a new case or lead he was gone in a flash. Never staying in one place for too long. He decided that this was indeed a smidge of jealously he felt at the muggle. One who in mere hours, if all went smoothly, he would never see again, and in return the man would never know of John. He would just be another face in the crowd.</p>
<p>"Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same," Mrs. Hudson turned to John and gave him a once over. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."</p>
<p>If that wasn't already putting the nail in the coffin it certainly cracked John's cool.</p>
<p>"Damn my leg!"</p>
<p>The bottled up rage finally burst out of him and onto the innocent woman who turned back to look at him from the door, making her jump. As soon as it came out he instantly regretted it and back pedaled fast.</p>
<p>"Sorry! I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ...," he tapped his leg with his cane hoping he didn't trip over his mouth twice in one sitting.</p>
<p>He knew the woman meant well and didn't deserve his lashing, but he was so utterly fucking tired of being pitied all the time. It was beginning to be exhausting.</p>
<p>"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." She made turn to leave again.</p>
<p>"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." He grabbed at the newspaper that was on the arm of the chair the elderly woman had put down, flipping it open.</p>
<p>"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."</p>
<p>"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."</p>
<p>"Not your housekeeper!" her voice now resonated going down the stairs.</p>
<p>John had already tuned her out as picture in the paper caught his eye. The front page story was oddly enough about the suicides Sherlock and the Inspector were just discussing. A brief scan of the article suggested all the suicides were concurrent with one another given the fact the victims had all taken the same poison. Glancing down near the bottom of the page there in the corner was a photo of the same man that had visited them moments before: Greg Lestrade, D.I.</p>
<p><em> "So he is working with the Yard. But why? He's bloody good, not entirely right, so why are the police wanting him? What's wrong about the suicides that has them baffled? Oh well, no matter. As soon as he's gone a ways I'll catch up and watch him. Maybe then I can finally figure out.."</em> John's thoughts were cut short by the deep voice of the detective by the doorway, making him almost jump in his chair.</p>
<p>"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." He stated fixing at putting on his gloves.</p>
<p>John rose up from the chair, discarding the paper, and answered with a simple 'Yes'.</p>
<p>John had thought he was off already bounding down through half of London in a cab since he was so excited about the case. So why was he back? He could see the gears turning in Sherlock's head as he came back in the room, as if he was formulating questions in his mind.</p>
<p>"Any good?" Was his next one.</p>
<p>"<em>Very</em> good."</p>
<p>"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."</p>
<p>"Mmm, yes."</p>
<p>"Bit of trouble too, I bet."</p>
<p>"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."</p>
<p><em> "Good Lord if you only knew the half of it."</em> John thought to himself.</p>
<p>"Wanna see some more?" With the last question John's heart swelled.</p>
<p>The detective was…inviting him? The prospect of running like an Auror again, even if it meant for a couple of hours, how could he refuse! It had been a long time since he had a good adrenaline rush. Now one laid before his feet.</p>
<p>"Oh<em> God</em>, yes." John answered fervently.</p>
<p>Sherlock spun on his heel and John followed him down the stairs. There was no way he was going to miss this opportunity. Who said he couldn't engage with muggle in question if he couldn't have a little fun?</p>
<p>"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." He called out to Mrs. Hudson as him and Sherlock reached the bottom landing.</p>
<p>"Both of you?!" She exclaimed coming out of her flat to see them out.</p>
<p>The muggle spun back on his heel, just before he could reach the front door, to face the elderly woman. His face was lit up full of excitement.</p>
<p>"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something <em>fun</em> going on!" He grasped her firmly by the shoulders, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.</p>
<p>"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She tutted again.</p>
<p>"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" The detective made his way out the front door, hailing a cab with expert ease as John followed behind.</p>
<p>The two men slipped into the cab, starting their journey as a silence grew between the two. John didn't have the chance to get to the bottom of his question back at the flat. And he wasn't exactly sure how long their ride would last, but he had to get the muggle to open up. Right now the man beside him had his attention transfixed on his phone, typing away God knows what. Sherlock's eyes gave him the briefest looks and he gave out a soft sigh.</p>
<p>"Okay, you've got questions." The muggle shoved his phone back into the pocket of his coat.</p>
<p>"Yeah, where are we going?"</p>
<p>"Crime scene. Next?"</p>
<p>"Who are you? What do you do?"</p>
<p>"What do you think?"</p>
<p>This time John's words faltered. He felt the interrogation table had been turned against him and it was now the muggle questioning him.</p>
<p>"I'd say private detective ..."</p>
<p>"But?"</p>
<p>"... but the police don't go to private detectives."</p>
<p>"I'm a <em>consulting</em> detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."</p>
<p>"What does that even mean?"</p>
<p>"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."</p>
<p>"The police don't consult amateurs." John scoffed and looked at the man beside him.</p>
<p>He knew in an instant from his stony look that he had said the wrong words. How little John knew that he was about to be undressed to the soul for the next five minutes.</p>
<p>"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised." Sherlock began his onslaught by peaking John's interest.</p>
<p>"Yes, how <em>did</em> you know?"</p>
<p>"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at a hospital, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan; Afghanistan or Iraq."</p>
<p>Flabbergasted by the detective's conclusion he pressed on. He had to know the answers to his other accusations.</p>
<p>"You said I had a therapist."</p>
<p>"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of<em> course</em> you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock held out his hand beckoning for his phone and John gave it to him without a second thought as if he was under his spell. "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. There's scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."</p>
<p>The passing street lights gleamed over the back of the phone long enough to see what the muggle was hinting at.</p>
<p>
  <em>"The engraving."</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> Harry</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>From Ginny</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> xxx</strong>
</p>
<p>Sherlock started up again not missing a beat.</p>
<p>"Harry: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man's gadget. <em>Could</em> be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Ginny. Who's Ginny? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he'd have kept it. People do; sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."</p>
<p>"How can you <em>possibly</em> know about the drinking?!"</p>
<p>Sherlock smiled to himself at John's reaction, knowing full well it had confirmed his theory.</p>
<p>"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed back John's phone, dropping it in his hands. "There you go, you see, you were right."</p>
<p>"<em>I</em> was right?! Right about what?" John asked incredulously.</p>
<p>"The police don't consult amateurs." He turned away as his gaze watched the traffic out the window.</p>
<p>After being stripped down raw by the muggle, John could only breathe out one statement.</p>
<p>"That ... was amazing."</p>
<p>Actually it was more than amazing, it was downright bloody phenomenal! The way he had explained every little detail was so precise and formulated. He didn't just simply guess out of thin air, ask someone else for information or better yet read minds, he really truly saw! He read people like an open book quite literally in a sense, scanning their life story and acquiring the information he needed for his job. The kind of skill level he had must've been damn near close to putting MI6 to shame. Good God if the Auror's had the kind of talent he did they would be catching dark witches and wizards by the minute! And he was right. He was no amateur and he proved it very well.</p>
<p>"Do you think so?" The meek question of the detective threw John for a loop.</p>
<p>"Of <em>course</em> it was! It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."</p>
<p>"That's not what people normally say."</p>
<p>"What do people normally say?"</p>
<p>" 'Piss off'!" Sherlock looked towards John and gave off a small smile before returning his attention out the window.</p>
<p>How was it that people couldn't find Sherlock's talent amazing? The cab arrived at its destination, police cars were surrounding what appeared to be a rundown abandoned apartment building with tape strung up to keep out on lookers. The two men got out of the cab and walk towards the police tape strung across the road, John struggling to keep up with the long strided detective.</p>
<p>"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked curiously.</p>
<p>"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Ginny and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting things sorted; and Harry is a drinker."</p>
<p>"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." He said impressed with himself.</p>
<p>"And Harry's not any relation to me." With John's deceleration Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, leaving John to continue onwards.</p>
<p>"No relation?!"</p>
<p>"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"</p>
<p>"There's always something!" He hissed under his breath, ignoring his question as he bypassed him.</p>
<p>John shook his head of the muggle's strange behavior and followed him to the police tape. An officer saw them approach and her smug smile gave off a arrogance that matched her long curly hair.</p>
<p>"Hello, freak." Her nasally voice was harsh on the ears.</p>
<p>"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."</p>
<p>John watched their interaction with interest. He noted the blank face and stiff posture that this man was trying his hardest to stay somewhat civil to the woman who had struck a nerve in him.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"I was invited."</p>
<p>"<em>Why?</em>"</p>
<p>"I think he wants me to take a look." He replied sarcastically, patience running thinner by the second.</p>
<p>"Well, you know what<em> I</em> think, don't you?" Clearly tired of playing the cat-and-mouse game Sherlock lifted the tape and let himself through.</p>
<p>"Always, Sally," He took a sudden sniff through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night." John watch the officer smug smile instantly disappear at his drop of her in her secret.</p>
<p><em> "So that's what he does. They ridicule him for being different and he uses his difference to get back at them. Not bad.</em>" John smiled to himself</p>
<p>"I don't ...Er, who's this?" her voice becoming flustered.</p>
<p>"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."</p>
<p>"A colleague? How do <em>you</em> get a colleague?!," she turned to John now giving him her full attention, surprise evident on her face. "What, did he follow you home?"</p>
<p>The nature of her question left him baffled that she would ask such a thing. He thought for a moment and rather than letting Sherlock risk his career over his presence maybe it would better if he backed out of the situation if it was going to be a problem. He could always watch him from the sidelines.</p>
<p>"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."</p>
<p>But Sherlock, seeing where his sentence was leading, beat him to the punch .</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>With hesitation John slipped under the tape Sherlock had held up for him. The sergeant, who was clearly not impressed by the men's presence, clicked over her radio to page the officers inside the building.</p>
<p>"Freak's here. Bringing him in."</p>
<p><em> "Freak? Did she seriously have to call him a freak?"</em> John's jaw clenched at the snide remark.</p>
<p>He remembered all too well being called out the same way when he first found out he was a wizard. That was when he had his first encounter of accidental magic. He made the neighbor's prick ass of a son grow excessively long hair all over his body and the boy had to be taken care of by the Ministry of Magic. Though, the boy never messed with John again and whenever he saw him he ran for his life. The men made their way up to the building I was greeted by a rat faced man in a plastic suit who was also not happy to see them. Adversary number two.</p>
<p>"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock greeted him.</p>
<p>"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He sneered.</p>
<p>Sherlock took another deep breath. John wasn't sure if it was to calm his nerves or prepare for battle.</p>
<p>"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"</p>
<p>"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."</p>
<p>"Your deodorant told me that."</p>
<p>"My deodorant?"</p>
<p>Sherlock's face contorted into a quirky expression when he stated it was for men.</p>
<p>"Well, of <em>course</em> it's for men! <em>I'm</em> wearing it!"</p>
<p>"So is Sergeant Donovan."</p>
<p>Anderson's eyes widened and spun around at breakneck speed in shock towards the dark curly haired woman who stared back at equal surprise. Speechless at the detective's accusation. Sherlock gave another sniff in the air for theatrics, enjoying the game he was playing between the two.</p>
<p>"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"</p>
<p>Anderson turned back to Sherlock ready to retaliate.</p>
<p>"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."</p>
<p>"I'm not implying <em>anything</em>," Sherlock shot back as he slinked past them both of them before adding in one final hit. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."</p>
<p>John could have swore he saw a spring to the young muggle's step as he just insulted these two people to the highest level. Even he couldn't help but find it funny as well. He followed behind and gave a quick peek to the sergeant's legs to see that all he had said, was in fact, true.</p>
<p><em> "Note to self. Never get on his bad side. He will rip you to shreds and leave you to die in a pile of your own humiliation.</em>" John's thoughts warned.</p>
<p>The ground floor was a total busybody. Officers were going about in plastic coveralls as they were met by the salt-and-peppered haired officer from earlier. Sherlock turned back to John handing a plastic coverall suit and he took it.</p>
<p>"You need to wear one of these." Sherlock stated.</p>
<p>"Who's this?" Lestrade asked Sherlock in a hushed voice as he dressed in coveralls as well.</p>
<p>"He's with me." His answer was clipped as he took off his black leather gloves.</p>
<p>"But who<em> is</em> he?"</p>
<p>"I <em>said</em> he's with me."</p>
<p>John took off his jacket and started to put on the garment when he noticed Sherlock only picked up a pair of latex gloves not bothering to put on the suit he and the Inspector were wearing.</p>
<p>"Aren't you gonna put one on?" John asked.</p>
<p>Sherlock only gave John a stern look before following the Inspector. John made a mental note that the muggle seemed to like to play by his own rules and not the rules of the police force which he found odd. He thought that a man with such intellectual acuity as his own he would like to be a perfectionist when it came to finding clues and not contaminating a crime scene.</p>
<p>"So where are we?" Sherlock asked.</p>
<p>"Upstairs." Lestrade replied.</p>
<p>The Inspector lead them up the circular staircase. Each step they took was a groan from the floorboards underneath as though the weight of the world could buckle through them at any moment.</p>
<p>"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade warned the detective.</p>
<p>"May need longer."</p>
<p>"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."</p>
<p>The older inspector brought them into room two stories above the ground floor. It was devoid of furniture except for a rocking horse, that had seen better years, in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting had been set up along with scaffolding poles to hold up part of the ceiling where a couple of large holes had caved in.</p>
<p>As they entered, John's legs were frozen to the floor he was standing on, unable to move as his heart thundered furiously in his chest. He had seen countless dead bodies before, but none prepared him for the one in front of him. Prostrate on the ground with her head turned sideways to the floor was, in his book, the most vile woman he had ever known. Her sickening pink outfit made him nearly want to vomit then and there. He remembered her cruelty not only as a teacher and headmistress, but in the ministry of magic as well with her outrageous prejudice ideas about muggle borns when she herself was only a half blood. She had ruined countless lives and tried the innocent all in the vision for Lord Voldemort.</p>
<p><em>"Karma's a bitch now ain't it Umbridge?"</em> His thoughts burned bitter within him.</p>
<p>Though that wasn't the only thing present in the room. Above her on the far wall a word had been burned into the foundation; RACHE. What was RACHE? More importantly now how on earth did Dolores Umbridge escape from Azkaban and now lying dead in a run down London flat? It made no sense to him. On top of that, why was she being called Jennifer Wilson? All these questions swirled in his mind. He desperately needed to call Harry and soon.</p>
<p>"Shut up." Sherlock blurted out unexpectedly startling both John and Lestrade in the impregnable silence.</p>
<p>"I didn't say anything." The Inspector chided.</p>
<p>"You were thinking. It's annoying." John shared a look to the Inspector beside him who looked equally as confused as John. He didn't know how to read minds, right? John shook his head at the ridiculous thought of this muggle reading minds. No he clearly proved himself in the cab ride to the crime scene. He just saw and observed. He now watched Sherlock as he glided across the room, looking, making mental notes in his mind, circling the dead woman on the floor. He reminded him of a trained blood hound searching for a scent. Anything that would lead him onto the right path.</p>
<p>Sherlock crouched down beside the corpse and ran his gloved hand along the back of her coat. Drawing it away it gave him his first clue: wet. Now to find out what secrets lie within her pockets. A single folding umbrella. Inspecting it with another stroke of his gloved hand he found it dry. The collar of her coat tells another story, it too is wet. A wet coat but useless umbrella? Why didn't she bother retrieving the item at her time of need? Especially decked out in her entourage. She would what to look well groomed for her lovers. Lovers? Yes definitely.</p>
<p>Popping out his magnifier he began inspecting her jewelry. She was dressing to impress. Her bracelet, earring on her observable right ear, and the necklace all check out as well looked after and clean. However, her wedding ring held deceitful lies and was absolutely filthy. Then again with the setting arrangement of the gaudy style one could see why she unhappily married. Most likely for ten years. He carefully worked the ring off her finger and held it to the light for a better look. Dirty on the outside, but clean on the inside. Yes, definitely lovers. She never wore it around them, regularly removed.</p>
<p>"<em>Well, well, my dear. You are a serial adulterer.</em>" Sherlock smiled in satisfaction. However his smile was short lived. He stood and walked to the vague message upon the wall. No ashes were scattered on the floor yet one could easily see the letters were burned on. Though by what matter remained a mystery. Long fingers traced down the letter of the R and brought to his nose to smell the residue. Hints of the drywall that was burned was all he could smell, but the rest was foreign to him much like word. RACHE. He was fluent in German and knew very well it meant revenge. Though why would she write this in the hour of death? No, this was note of malice. It couldn't be. Looking towards the woman's hands he noticed they were chipped, not cared for. Had she fought for her life? Also he had found nothing on her that would've produced the burned letters. No this had to be a name. Not Rache, Rachel. Was it the murderer's or someone to contact?</p>
<p>"Got anything?" Lestrade broke the silence.</p>
<p>"Not much." Sherlock took off his gloves and reached into pocket for his mobile phone, typing through the internet to scour for answers.</p>
<p>"She's German," the rat faced Anderson leaned casually on the door way, his presence suddenly became known. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge.' She could be trying to tell us something ..."</p>
<p>The door slammed shut, by Sherlock, mid sentence before he could spout off his theory.</p>
<p>"Yes, thank you for your input." His tone dripping in sarcasm and annoyance.</p>
<p>"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.</p>
<p>"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ..." Sherlock's attention was still to his phone before his face lit up "... before returning home to Cardiff." He shoved his phone in his pocket and returned his attention back to the Inspector.</p>
<p>"So far, so obvious."</p>
<p>"Sorry – obvious?" It was John's turn to ask this time.</p>
<p>He didn't understand how this muggle was so pin point about his conclusions on some, yet totally out of the ball park on others. If he could pick up on John's cover story, how did he not see that Umbridge never came from Cardiff? Or did she and John not see?</p>
<p>"What about the message, though?" Lestrade pointed out, but Sherlock ignored his question and looked to John. Perhaps seeing the confusion on his new flat mate's face.</p>
<p>"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"</p>
<p>"Of the message?"</p>
<p>"Of the body. You're a medical man."</p>
<p>"Wait, no," Lestrade stopped him perturbed by the idea of having a third party inspect the dead woman "we have a whole team right outside."</p>
<p>"They won't work with me."</p>
<p>"I'm breaking every rule letting <em>you</em> in here."</p>
<p>"Yes ... because you need me."</p>
<p>"Yes, I do." The Inspector could only lower his eyes in defeat at Sherlock's words. "God help me."</p>
<p>"Doctor Watson." Sherlock addressed John again. From his stance he could see he was inviting him to examine the body in which he felt constricted in doing. He knew he needed to for his own information to give back to Auror's, but he didn't want to be caught in the cross fire between the two conflicting men.</p>
<p>"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." His tone was frustrated and clipped as he turned to go outside of the room, barking orders to the rat faced man to give John and Sherlock some time. John hobbled over to Umbridge's body, awkwardly getting down on one knee and laying his cane off to the side. The detective crouched on the other side, his eyes full of interest and intrigue.</p>
<p>"Well?"</p>
<p>"What am I doing here?" John asked blatantly.</p>
<p>"Helping me make a point." Sherlock stated in a hushed tone.</p>
<p>"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John's voice lowered to match his.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, this is more fun."</p>
<p>"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."</p>
<p>"Perfectly sound analysis, but I <em>was</em> hoping you'd go deeper."</p>
<p>The Inspector returned then, leaning on the doorframe as they watched them. John knew he was going to have to say something and he was on a two minute time crunch. He leaned down forward, taking a whiff of the dead woman's face. Nothing out of sort. Next he looked at her hand. Her fingernails were jagged, not like the immaculate manicure she had before. Years at Azkaban definitely did a number on her.</p>
<p>"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs." John threw out there.</p>
<p>"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Sherlock hinted at him.</p>
<p>"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"</p>
<p>"Sherlock," Lestrade cut off the pair. "two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."</p>
<p>The two men stood from the body as Sherlock started his deductions.</p>
<p>"Victim is in her early fifties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."</p>
<p>"Suitcase?" The Inspector asked confused.</p>
<p>"<em>What the devil is he on about now? A suitcase? Lord knows what the hell is in it!</em>" John silently made a once over of the room they were in with no suitcase in sight. Nor did he remember seeing on downstairs. Where ever it was he needed to find it and soon. It was quite possible that it had valuable information on how Umbridge escaped.</p>
<p>"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."</p>
<p>"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade scoffed.</p>
<p>"Her wedding ring." Sherlock pointed to her ringed left hand. "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. Rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."</p>
<p>"That's brilliant!" Sherlock's eyes had flicked over to John's meeting his, brows burrowing slightly over his outburst. "Sorry."</p>
<p>"Cardiff?" Lestrade questioned.</p>
<p>"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock stated.</p>
<p>Obvious? Red flags were beginning to raise in John's mind curious of what other conclusion the muggle had come to. Hopefully none concerning the fact this wasn't Jennifer Wilson at all. John dreaded to ask his own question.</p>
<p>"It's not obvious to me." The detective stopped his movements and stared at the two men before him, seemingly wondering how on earth they ever made it past primary school.</p>
<p>"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." In one swift turn he went back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, <em>strong</em> wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"</p>
<p>Fishing for the phone from his pocket he flips it around to show his proof on a webpage he had pulled up; the weather for the current day's weather, particularly southern Britain. Cardiff in question had been dosed in heavy rain, just like he said.</p>
<p>"That's fantastic!" came John's praise.</p>
<p>"D'you know you do that out loud?"</p>
<p>"Sorry. I'll shut up."</p>
<p>"No, it's ... fine."</p>
<p>"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade interrupted, jarring Sherlock back to the situation at hand.</p>
<p>Sherlock spun around in circle quickly surveying the run down room.</p>
<p>"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is."</p>
<p>"She was writing 'Rachel'?" The Inspector scoffed.</p>
<p>"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of <em>course</em> she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" John felt his nerves settle somewhat by Sherlock's words. He had believed the writing on the wall was a name instead of a note. He didn't even seemed concerned that it was burned on the wall than written on a piece of paper or something more normal.</p>
<p>"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" The Inspector asked.</p>
<p>Sherlock pointed down at the body, more importantly the back of her legs, where tiny muddied prints could be seen.</p>
<p>"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night. Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"</p>
<p>"There wasn't a case."</p>
<p>The detective stilled and raised his head toward Lestrade.</p>
<p>"Say that again." Sherlock requested.</p>
<p>"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."</p>
<p>Sherlock dashed towards the door and flew down the stairs, his coat bellowing behind him.</p>
<p>"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?!"</p>
<p>Lestrade and John followed him out the door watching the detective fly down the stairs in his rapid descent.</p>
<p>"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade barked at him.</p>
<p>"But they take the poison themselves!" he stopped briefly to peer up at the two men he had left behind. "They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them."</p>
<p>"Right, yeah, thanks, <em>and</em> ...?"</p>
<p>"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. I <em>love</em> those. There's always something to look forward to."</p>
<p>"Why are you saying that?"</p>
<p>"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."</p>
<p>"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John was trying to put out any second thoughts into Sherlock's head. He was going to have to play him for time if he was going to call up the Auror's to find the suitcase first. No way he was letting this muggle getting his hands on it.</p>
<p>"No, she never got to the hotel." Sherlock disputed "Look at her hair. She color coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." All of a sudden Sherlock's eyes went wide, exclaiming an "oh" from his mouth as he clapped his hands together at his epiphany.</p>
<p>"What is it, what?" Lestrade leaned in closer over the rails hanging on to the detective's every word.</p>
<p>"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock smiled to himself.</p>
<p>"We can't just wait!"</p>
<p>"Oh, we're <em>done</em> waiting!" He began his descent again with new vigor."Look at her, really <em>look</em>! Houston, we <em>have</em> a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"</p>
<p>Sherlock finally reached the ground floor and disappeared from sight.</p>
<p>"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade called after him.</p>
<p>Sherlock hurried back to appear before them again and yelled up his final clue.</p>
<p>"PINK!"</p>
<p>He hurried off again leaving the Inspector and John to their own devices.John watched as Lestrade went back to his team to set about his work. John on the other hand needed to catch up with the muggle and Obilivate his mind. John knew Sherlock didn't know who Umbridge was, but he didn't need to know. This case that originally set out to be an ordinary suicide murder was now a case for the magical world. Sherlock was clever. Eventually he would figure it out. John could easily alter his memories, make it seem like he was never on this case, erase the signs of his world's problems and interactions and Sherlock would be none the wiser about it.</p>
<p>John made a hasty retreat down the staircase, shucked off the plastic coveralls and put back on his jacket. He hobbled outside to the street sure the muggle would be there waiting for him, since had invited him on this adventure, but he was no where to be found.</p>
<p>"He's gone."</p>
<p>Looking towards the police tape he caught the face of the nasally vile woman from before. "Who, Sherlock Holmes?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, he just took off. He does that."</p>
<p>"Is he coming back?"</p>
<p>"Didn't look like it."</p>
<p>"Right," He had hoped she would've elaborated further on where Sherlock had went, but given their previous encounter her was doubtful she would help. "Right….yes. Sorry where am I?"</p>
<p>"Brixton."</p>
<p>"Right. Er, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, er ... well... my leg."</p>
<p>"Try the main road." She lifted up the police tape and John slid under.</p>
<p>"Thanks."</p>
<p>"But you're not his friend." The woman's words hit at him unexpectedly and he turned back to face her. "He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"</p>
<p>"I'm ... I'm nobody. I just met him." There was no point in telling her who he was. Another face on the street. That's all he would be in a few hours.</p>
<p>"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy."</p>
<p>"Why?" John was miffed by this woman's attitude towards the detective. She clearly had a dislike for him that set her mind that he was simply one thing to her; a freak. A freak that thought outside of the box, a freak that could see where others couldn't, a freak that was using his talents to save lives and the Yards fucking jobs. And John hated every fucking bit of it! He wanted nothing more than to give her a piece of his mind and shove it so far up her ass!</p>
<p>"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."</p>
<p>"Why would he do that?"</p>
<p>"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."</p>
<p>"Donovan!" A call from Lestrade from the doorway of the building broke their conversation.</p>
<p>"Coming." She started walking back to the run down building before turning back to John. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."</p>
<p>John watched her go, grateful she had been called away before he could say something not so nice himself. The ringing of a nearby phone booth pulled him from his now sour mood to refocus, he had a call to make himself. Making his way further down the street and away from the crime scene John pulled out his mobile phone, flipping through the contacts for Harry and rang him up.</p>
<p>"Harry its John. We have an emergency."</p>
<p>"What's happened?" Harry asked curiously.</p>
<p>"You know the case Arthur gave me, the detective bloke, I was..watching him, well with him. He invited me to a crime scene since I'm playing this bloody doctor part and the dead body at the crime scene is Dolores Umbridge. For some reason she has credit cards on her saying she is a woman named Jennifer Wilson, but it is her Harry. She has either escaped Azkaban or someone has helped her do it."</p>
<p>"Oh my God!" Harry's voice was now in full alarm. "I'll get word out straight away to send someone out to Azkaban to see what's happened."</p>
<p>"And there was something else. A note, burned into the goddamn wall, but it was in German. RACHE, means revenge. Do we know of anyone that's German that's pissed off at Umbridge enough to kill her? And the detective he's out searching right now for a suitcase that belonged to either Umbridge or Jennifer Wilson. May need to send a team out here too."</p>
<p>"Very well. I'll send out some people. And as for anyone German, no not that I know of but I will look into it."</p>
<p>"Thanks. I'll let you know if anything else comes up." John ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.</p>
<p>He ventured further down the street trying to find any sign of the tall lanky muggle. Though the more he walked the more the crowds of people on the street got denser. There would be no way he was going to be able to find him like this. How was it that this man got away so fast? So far his first day as an Obilivator was not looking well. His attention was drawn to another phone booth that began ringing for no reason. For a moment he observed it and found nothing unremarkable about it, though curious if it was a phone booth that had been modified for Ministry employees. A thought occurred to him that perhaps they were trying to get a hold of him and without any greater judgement went inside the phone booth and answered the ringing contraption.</p>
<p>"Hello?"</p>
<p>"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" A hard suave voice on the voice spoke on the line. For the second time that night John's heart beat fast in his chest, paralyzing him to the spot and even a chill running down his spine.</p>
<p>"Who's this? Who's speaking?"</p>
<p>"Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?"</p>
<p>John's eyes drifted up the building closest to him and there perched on the corner was a security camera gazing down upon the wizard.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I see it."</p>
<p>"Watch."</p>
<p>The camera swiveled away, turning its body from the phone box. John could feel his heart beat steadily faster.</p>
<p>"There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"</p>
<p>John looked across the road to the second camera perched on the corner of a building, which was also pointed towards the phone box at him. And on cue it too swerved away from him towards the other direction.</p>
<p>"And finally, at the top of the building on your right."</p>
<p>Turning to the last camera John watched as it too moved out of view.</p>
<p>"How are you doing this?" John breathed out. He could barely hear shakiness in his own voice.</p>
<p>"Get into the car, Doctor Watson."</p>
<p>And like magic a black car pulled up by the curbside and its driver opening the rear door, waiting for him.</p>
<p>"I <em>would</em> make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."</p>
<p>The phone line suddenly went dead as he eyed the car by the curb. This surely wasn't part of the Obiliviator's job? Right? The more deeper and deeper he got into this case with the muggle, the stranger it got. Now he knew if he got into this car he wasn't sure if he would be coming back at all. This muggle who had easily called him from a phone box already knew his cover name for Christ's sake! Who was he?! The fight or flight was high in his system, but deep down he knew he had no option. He had to go. If he fled, Aparating away from this new fresh danger, his cover would be blown. On top of that there would be no video footage of his subtle kidnapping. It would be like he had vanished into the night.</p>
<p>He slipped out his mobile phone and quickly sent his last text, since there was now no cameras watching him.</p>
<p>
  <strong> "Harry, tell Arthur I've been taken. Brixton."</strong>
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